Pseudo-semi-regular excretions from Bill's Brain. Professional driver on closed road - do not attempt!

 
...'cause I'm as free as a bird now...

"If you were born after this date:
JUNE 5 1985
it is illegal for you to purchase cigarettes."

This is what the take-a-penny tray tells me at the convenience store near my office.

June 5, 1985. Why does this date stand out in my head?

Oh yeah. It was the day I graduated high school.

Kids who were born on the day I graduated high school are eighteen now.


*sigh*

It was very hot that day, and very green. Our ceremony was under the massive pine trees on the grassy front lawn of the school, facing State Street. We wore emerald green caps and gowns. Dad was there. I miss him a lot.

Dave Lawson got just about every special award that there was. I was so happy for him. I got a special award for excellence in Creative Writing. That was unexpected, and cool.

Then we got our diplomas. When I sat back down, I opened mine very slowly and peeked inside. It was in there. I exhaled. I had passed. Thank God.

At the end, we were handed white and green helium balloons, which we were supposed to set loose into the sky. Mine was green. I hesitated for a few moments after everyone else set theirs free. I wanted to watch mine as it ascended. This was important. Watching this balloon fly skyward would be a symbol of my life from this day, June 5th, 1985, onward.

Then, I let go, when most of the other balloons were well on their way to heaven...

...and watched it get stuck in a tree.



The grassy lawn is mostly gone now. Holy Cross chopped most of the pines down, built a new church out front, and paved over most of the lawn for parking. But the tree that my balloon got stuck in is still standing. I pass by there most every day to drop Paula off at work or pick her up. When I do, I wonder if that balloon is still up there.


posted by Dr. Awkward at 1:23 PM

 
Dream Sequence: The show must go on.

I had a dream last night that I was in a high school play. I had one line, but no one could tell me what it was, because no one had a spare script. I was playing a playground monitor. So I improvised a line: "You kids better settle down, now!"

When the play was over, they had a yard sale to sell all of the props.

Then I woke up.


posted by Dr. Awkward at 8:51 AM

 
Worst. Week. EVER.

Okay, this is going to be sappy and all feel-goody, I’m just warning you from the start. Lots of people hate that sort of thing. Usually, I’m one of them, too. But this is special because it happened to me.

The last week was a pretty lousy one. It started on Sunday when our dog ate something that didn’t agree with her, and crapped all over the house.

On Monday, I was called to a special work meeting late in the day, and got the news that our parent company is filing Chapter 11. Our department is in the middle of being sold, so this will screw things up for us in a big way.

On Monday night, I came home from Aylish’s Brownie meeting to a message from Visa Protection Services. Someone had stolen my debit card number, made a phony card with it, and attempted to buy $2700 worth of clothes at Hip Hop Sports in Brooklyn. I’ve never even been to Brooklyn.

On Tuesday, Aylish developed some kind of bug, and puked all over the house.

On Wednesday, Aylish got worse, so I stayed home with her. More puking. That night, Nolah took a hot dog to my father-in-law’s dog to feed it to her. Then she tried to kiss the dog on top of her head, and the dog bit her on the face. She needed stitches in two places. Her mother brought her back from the emergency room at quarter past 1 in the morning.

On Thursday, Nolah caught Aylish’s bug, and puked one time. This seemed to cause her stitches to bleed more than they had been in the past.

By Friday, I was ready to give up on everything.

When you’re having a great day, it’s often not hard for one bad thing to ruin it all for you. The trick is to not let it happen. The other trick is to make it work in reverse as well – to let one good thing make up for all of the bad.

On Sunday, Aylish’s Brownie troop had a trip to the new ice skating rink at the Harrington Fairgrounds. We went a little later than the others, because we still wanted to go to the Halloween Trail at Brecknock Park earlier in the day. I rushed her into the rink, strapped the skates to her feet, and hurried her to the ice while there was still time.

She seemed nervous, and at times it was almost as if she was just doing this to make me happy. When she found out that there was no railing on the wall to hold onto as she skated, she became even more nervous. Then, we discovered that they have “helpers” at the rink – little metal racks that look like walkers that the kids can push around to help them with their balance as they skate. One of the troop leaders grabbed Aylish and a walker and led her out onto the ice. I watched from the other side of the glass, as I refuse to put anything on the bottoms of my feet that is not flat and of excellent traction.

She did quite well for a little while, and lapped the rink twice when she started to head into the center, as most kids end up doing in skating rinks of either type. She stalled for a bit, then her feet went backwards out from under her. Luckily, she kept her grip on the walker, and was able to recover without a bump and with a little dignity still intact.

Then, a little boy skated by and fell down right next to her. He was smaller than her, but a more experienced skater, so he didn’t have a walker. He had landed on his back, however, and was having trouble getting up. I could see him say something to Aylish and then reach his hand out to her.

Then Aylish wobbled over to him, bent down to take his hand, and helped him up, at an incredible risk of falling down again herself.

I stood there, amazed, like I’d just seen Elvis Presley in a Godzilla suit doing a triple axel somersault or whatever stupid moves those dumb figure skaters do. Yet it was nothing surprising. This was a glimpse of Aylish’s true nature – a nature that I had helped to develop for the last six years.

No matter how screwed up things had gotten, I was still doing something right.

The musician, artist, and philosopher Connor Freff Cochran once said that it’s best to keep something warm in your pocket, and take it out to comfort yourself whenever the world around you grows cold. This will be one of those things, for me.

Nolah’s stitches came out today. The bank has taken care of all of the charges made to our account. Our dog is better, and the kids aren’t throwing up anymore. As for my job, I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but I don’t care too much. All of these things will pass, and become stories. The stories they become will make us smile. Some will make us glad that they’re in the past, and that we don’t have to live through them anymore.

But others will be special stories. Those are the ones that will make us warm when it’s cold outside.


posted by Dr. Awkward at 3:20 PM

 
Banned Books are the Best Books
This is Banned Book Week - September 21st - 28th. Read a banned book today!

In fact, read it in public. Let people see that you're reading it! Show them that you're a freethinker, and that you do not let others decide what you should read. Maybe one or two of them will start to think for themselves as well!

Right now, the most commonly banned and challenged books are those in the Harry Potter series, but you can never go wrong with a copy of Huck Finn or Catcher In The Rye. If you're hard pressed for choices, worry not - there are always books out there that some emotionally unbalanced person wants to pile up and burn. Check with your local freethinking bookstore. Waldenbooks usually has a good display this time of year, or you can visit the American Library Association's Banned Books site at www.ala.org/bbooks.

My choice right now is the fourth Harry Potter book, Goblet of Fire. I'm also reading Gerard Jones' Killing Monsters, which challenges many of the misconceptions we have about violent play among children. It's not banned or challenged yet, but I suspect it will be some day soon.

Oh, and don't stop when the week is over. Banned books are required reading every day.


posted by Dr. Awkward at 11:28 AM

 
Identity Crisis

What do you do?

This is the most irritating question for me. I realize it's not something that people ask with the intention of pissing you off, but it irks me nonetheless. I just don't jive with the concept of a person's career as their primary identity, the thing that makes them who they are. Sure, there are people like that. And to me, they're very sad, shallow people. They're the people who talk on their cell phones in the bathroom and miss their kid's violin recital to go to an emergency meeting that accomplishes nothing other than making the boss feel more like the boss.

It's just a simple conversation starter. I know. I understand. But why do people need to identify you with your career? Why must I be a tech support guy? Am I happy with being that guy? Do I like him better than the record store manager guy, or the website content developer guy, or the rent-a-wedding-DJ guy? Which of me was my favorite? What happens when I change jobs again? Will I even like that guy at all?

I am not what I do for a living. I am what I do for a life.

There are other questions we could ask as a conversation starter, but most of them are too personal. "What do you believe?" sounds too much like you're trying to convert someone into your cult. "What do you like?" sounds like you're trying to pick them up. "How do you feel about life?" sounds like you're trying to sell them insurance or a burial plot.

The answer is in the answer. From now on, when people ask me what I do, I'm not going to assume that they want to know what my career is. Instead, I'm going to tell them what I do for a life.

I am a father, and a damned good one.
I am a former small-town rock star.
I play games, and when I do, I really don't care if I win or not. Really.
I cry at sad movies and feel like a moron afterwards.
I am a mediocre bowler, but it doesn't stop me.
I am a Pez collector, and I'm very comfortable with that.
I am an internet addict.
I am a caffiene addict.
I draw portraits of rock stars. In Crayola crayon.
I pretend to be other people for brief periods of time, and call it a hobby.
I dance when no one is looking, and when someone is looking, I dance the same way.
I am an amatuer astronomer.
I play the guitar. I also try to play the banjo, mandolin, violin, and lap dulcimer. Sometimes I succeed.
I paint little plastic and metal men and monsters and then pretend that they're fighting each other.
I am an expert on old-school funk and Ronnie James Dio.
I am a lousy chess player, but it doesn't stop me.
I'm rather good with a yo-yo.
I'm a writer.
I'm an artist.
I'm a thinker.
I'm a dreamer.

This is what I do.

Of course, most of these answers will only make people think that I'm unemployed. But that's their problem, and they can deal with it while they're talking on their cell phone in the bathroom.


posted by Dr. Awkward at 11:17 AM

 
Do You Have Stairs On Your Desktop?

It's a game where you push a guy down the steps, and get points for the amount of damage he takes as he falls.

You pick where on his body you'd like to push him, and then try to score high on an everchanging force meter. Not only that, but you can change the camera angle to view his "dismount" from many dramatic points of view. And replay. It has replay, for crying out loud.

Don't even act like you don't want to download it and try it for yourself. It's here. Space robots not included.

posted by Dr. Awkward at 11:41 AM

 
Hold the Cinco de Mayo

I hate drunks

Okay, I don't hate anybody, least of all people who have a legitimate drinking problem. I just get very annoyed by people who MUST have alcohol on hand in order to have a good time. I usually try to separate myself from such people, and in extreme cases, I will avoid any contact with them whatsoever.

Once, I was in a convenience store on the last day of race weekend. I live in Delaware, which is the home of Dover Downs, a popular stop on the NASCAR circuit. I was fueling up the Nova and walked in to get some Snapple. I wasn't inside for a minute when a red-faced fellow in a "wife beater" tank top stormed in, scanned the beverage cases, then stormed back out. His speech was a little hard to make out through his rage, but the conclusion I came to was that he was from one of those states where beer is sold in convenience stores, and it was absolutely unthinkable that we here in Delaware would not do the same thing. I wondered if he was this pissed off without beer, how pissed off he would he be once he was completely tanked?

The fifth of May is especially annoying for me, because of the whole Cinco de Mayo thing. As your average frat boy what Cinco de Mayo is, and he'll probably puke on your shoes and say "Aaaaaahhhhhwwwwllrrraaaaayyyyyyyyttttttttttttt!!!" It's really just an excuse to drink more tequila than usual. The real meaning is lost. No one truly knows what Cinco de Mayo is all about. So I will enlighten everyone. Once you know, the onus will be upon you to spread the word.

Cinco de Mayo is Spanish for "May 5th", which is the day before my birthday. In english-speaking countries, this day is usually referred to as "Billmas Eve," or "the day before the feast day of Saint Bill."

So this year, instead of poisoning yourself with more alcohol, consider buying me a nice present. It'll be better for both of us. Or, if you're already drunk, just mail me your wallet. I'll take care of the rest. Hey, it's the least I can do.

posted by Dr. Awkward at 3:46 PM

 
The Zen of Aylish - Mad Love For Mah Peeps

Aylish got some marshmallow Peeps for Easter. Yesterday, she opened them to have a few. While enjoying their sugary-marshmallowy goodness, she kept saying things like "Keep your hands off my peeps" and "I love my peeps," and "Piz-eace in the hiz-ouse for mah piz-eeps!"

All right, all right... I confess. I made that last one up.

Footnote for the tragically unhip: "Peeps" is street-slang for "people." Do you get it now, mah peeps?

She Blinded Me With Silence

According to an article in New Scientist, a UK engineer named Selwyn Wright has developed a "Silence Machine," a collection of microphones and speakers connected to a computer that generates "anti-noise" to cancel out continuous, predictable noise, such as heavy machinery and irate mothers-in-law.

Actually, scratch that last bit. Speech and music are "unpredictable noise," and will have to wait until further development. Of course, that doesn't mean that we can't begin imagining how we will use our Silence Machines now.

Here is a partial list of the settings I'll be using the most:

- Dr. Laura.

- Tipper Gore.

- All former, current, and future Survivor contestants.

- Any conversation that begins with the phrase "Did you see Survivor last night?"

- Mariah Carey.

- "Bad To The Bone" by George Thorogood - but none of his other songs.

- George Dubya (with subtitles - I want to know what the man is saying, I just can't stand the sound of his voice).

- All rap groups except for Beastie Boys, Bloodhound Gang, De La Soul & Digital Underground.

- Anyone who ever says 'Someone think of the CHILDREN!'

- Boy bands.

- Anyone wearing a headband visor backwards and/or upside down, the music they listen to, and the sound of their car, motorcycle, go-kart, or riding mower engine.

- Sporting events, sports reports during news broadcasts, ESPN, athletes complaining about how little money they make, and anyone asking me "Hey, didja see that Lakers game last night?"

- Everclear.

- Old Navy ads.

- Cell phones, and the conversations held on them.

- Matchbox 20

- Any and all whining about Star Wars (Hmmm... I wonder if these machines can respond with a painful, deafening screech whenever anyone bitches about Jar-Jar Binks?)

I came close to adding Jesse Helms to the list, but I find it helpful to actually hear his lazy, mostly-incoherent drawl whenever I start taking him seriously. Alternately, I'd like to see if there's a device that can replace his face with that of Foghorn Leghorn.

So, what would you set your Silence Machine for? Let me know!

posted by Dr. Awkward at 9:13 AM

 
A Rant Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

While cleaning up my old e-mail at work, I found this rant that I wrote to a couple of co-workers last July. I hate to waste a good rant. So here you go.

-=-

I just got another call from a salesperson. This was the fifth one I've had this morning.

Salesperson: "Are you looking for any solutions to your ARP in the IS department?"

What I said: "Not really. We've got that covered."

What I shoud have said: "Yeah, I need a solution. I need a solution to this problem where salespeople call me up constantly and ask me to PURCHASE their SOLUTIONS, when what they are REALLY selling is PRODUCT - and using the word SOLUTION to make it seem as if I NEED THAT PRODUCT MORE.

I need a SOLUTION to the problem where people MISUSE WORDS to better sell a box with wires in it, or a round piece of silicone with a hole in the middle, or a visit from a mouth-breathing computer geek who gets paid sixty bucks an hour to tweak a couple of settings and snicker under his breath at how we didn't know how to fix it ourselves. I need a SOLUTION for all of these people who call these things SOLUTIONS, instead of what they REALLY are, which is PRODUCTS and SERVICES, and which are only OCCASIONALLY an actual SOLUTION.

To say you wish to sell me a SOLUTION implies that I have a PROBLEM. And I do. My PROBLEM is having too many salespeople calling me and trying to sell SOLUTIONS. And my SOLUTION to THAT PROBLEM can be had free of charge. Allow me to forward this call to MISTER DIALTONE!!! HE'LL BE GLAD TO HEAR YOUR SOLUTION OPTIONS!!!"


posted by Dr. Awkward at 3:39 PM

 
All Your Cheese Are Belong To Us

I wonder if Fatmouse can explain Timecube to us?



posted by Dr. Awkward at 9:31 AM

 
If You Choose Not To Decide, You Still Have Made A Choice

I found some humor in the title to a piece of Spam I got today:

Subj: Receive a FREE WILL!
Date: Thu, 28 Feb 2002 1:53:45 AM Eastern Standard Time
From: "LTD Group"
To: WALTONWJ@AOL.COM

I wonder how much they charge for Free Will? And can I get a Clear Conscience value meal with a super-sized order of Self Confidence, to go?


posted by Dr. Awkward at 9:07 AM

 
Under My Spell

*sigh* Not a lot of time for the old Blog, it seems... I've got loads of writing to do, so that's where most of my time has been going.

I've also been getting loads of e-mail about my Spellcasting 101 article. It got some exposure on some Harry Potter and gaming websites, and the word has gotten around about it. So if you haven't seen it yet, head on over.


posted by Dr. Awkward at 4:59 PM

 
What's Wrong With The World

I was in Waldenbooks yesterday, and saw a book titled Marriage For Dummies.

Isn't it bad enough that they've been doing it all this time without a help manual?

posted by Dr. Awkward at 4:46 PM

 
Casket Dream

Okay, I had a fairly strange dream last night, and it just now came back to me.

I was trying to get somewhere - I think it was a theme park or something, because I remember having to walk under a rusty metal forest of scaffolding for rollercoasters and other rickety, decrepit rides. At one point, the path I was taking became the tracks of a decommisioned rollercoaster, and I was walking carefully on the ties to avoid falling.

After some time, I came to what I thought was the ticket booth to the carnival/park/fair/whatever. It was a large, boxy black building with no windows and a small door in the front. So, I walked in.

I stepped into what seemed to be a casket showroom. There were many different rooms, and each was draped with red and black silk and lit from above with dim track lighting. The first rooms I encountered had some pretty run-of-the-mill caskets - black with brass handles & nameplates, or the occasional white or woodgrain number thrown in for variety.

As I wandered further into the building, however, things started to get strange - as if it wasn't already strange enough. I saw a casket made to look like a large phone junction box - for dedicated telephone technicians who have passed on, no doubt. I saw another that looked like - or perhaps it WAS - a telephone booth. With clear glass windows.

Others had brand names on them. Budweiser. Nike. Marlboro (this last one raised a chuckle). I was expecting to see Tommy Hilfiger or FUBU caskets, but I never did.

Then, I came to the employee break room - well lit, with OSHA posters, dry-erase boards with sales numbers, and a time clock & cards on the walls. Two men in dark suits sat on peeling-green metal chairs at a table made from a lovely mahogany casket sitting on sawhorses. They were eating sandwiches.

One of them jumped up, shook my right hand, shoved a brochure of the latest models in my left, and led me back out to the showroom floor in one smooth motion. He was glad to see me, he said. He was very glad that I came to him for my "eternity needs," he said. He could tell I was the type of person who wanted to spend eternity in a unique way, he said. Then, he led me to where they kept the "unique" caskets.

We stepped into a room with grass on the floor, and a clear blue sky above. It looked as if we were in the middle of a massive graveyard, with rolling green hills dotted with grave markers for miles in every direction - but when I drew close to one of the walls, I could see that it was just a very good illusion. In the middle of the room, there were various strange devices.

Some looked like small Ed-Wood-B-movie-style flying saucers. Each was lined with silk and held a smiling dummy dressed in a tux. Some were beds, but with a lid that closed over the body.

I started getting a very strong, and very weird, sense of my mortality.

My salesman brought me to the far end of the room, where he said we would find the model that would suit me the best. He stood beside it and grinned a self-assured grin.

It was a finely-crafted lawn chair, trimmed in brass. A tux-wearing dummy sat in it, covered with a thick wool blanket. His brown leather wingtips stuck out at the bottom. My salesman whipped the blanket off with a flourish to reveal the dummy, who sat there, unprotected from the elements of nature and carrion-craving animals.

I was about to ask why he thought spending eternity on a lawn chair being eaten alive by worms and vultures suited my personality so well, when I heard a voice coming from the other side of the chair.

I peered over to see a small speaker on a pole - the type you might find at a drive-in movie theater. A woman's voice was coming out of the speaker. She was talking to the dummy, telling him how much she missed him, and how she'll be there soon to see him, and how she will bring some other family members with her. She also mentioned that some family members might want to get a peek under the blanket. That is, if the dummy didn't mind, of course.

My salesman explained that, for an additional charge, you could get this speaker installed that would let your loved ones call a special number (for a nominal fee) that would connect them directly to this speaker at times when they just couldn't make it to your final resting place.

I just stared back at him.

Then I woke up.



What bothers me the most about dreams like this one is how close they can be to reality. Just look at this and this and this. These things didn't bother me yesterday. Now, they do.


Please leave flowers at my lawn chair,
Bill
posted by Dr. Awkward at 9:32 AM

 
It's later now, right?

Like any new toy, I am compelled to play with this one constantly, at least until it no longer entertains me. Sort of like all those grand writing ideas I keep getting... [smirk] So I insist on making another entry, whilst having virtually nothing to say. I sit here, not unlike one of the hundred monkeys with a typewriter, trying to pound out the Great American Novel.

Blargh.

Heh heh. That's a fun sound to make.

Two things I need to mention -

1. Bill's Blog is actually a part of the Bill's Brain website, so if you've arrived here by surfing the Blog scene, then you really need to go to the site. Really. You need. To.

2. I snagged a CD copy of "Frosting on the Beater" by the Posies on eBay for FOUR MEASLEY BUCKS! This is unimportant to anyone except myself, of course, but I just made you read it. Haa haa! QUAKE IN FEAR AS YOU BEHOLD THE POWER I HAVE OVER YOU TO READ MY MEANINGLESS DRIVEL!!! YOU CANNOT STOP NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY!!!

That is all. More later. Go to Bill's Brain.

Blog! Tongs! Spork!
Bill
posted by Dr. Awkward at 9:37 PM

 
Hello. This is my first entry in Bill's Blog.

As expected, I don't know what to say, cuz I wasn't really prepared to write anything. In fact, I didn't even know what a Blog was until about half an hour ago.

Blog is short for WebLog.

"Blog?" You may be asking yourself. "Why is that short for WebLog? Wouldn't WLOG make more sense?"

I asked myself that too.

I'm guessing it's Blog instead of Wlog for one or more of three reasons:

Phonics - "WL" does not make as pleasant a consonant blend as "BL," and makes the speaker sound like he's got a small piece of soft pretzel stuck in his throat.

Hipness - "Blog" sounds like something you'd hear the delinquents in "A Clockwork Orange" say. As in, "Oh yes, my brothers - this Blog is truly horrorshow." The internet is slowly causing us to adopt this odd dystopian future language as our own, and pretty soon we'll be running around in white jumpsuits listening to Wendy Carlos playing Beethoven on monophonic synthesizers and kicking the snot out of each other in front of the Kerova Milk Bar. That is, if we're not doing the old in-out-in-out.

Fun - Like SMOCK or TONGS, Blog is fun to say. Blog. Try it. Blog. Say it with me. Blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog. It's almost like a cuss word. You sort of expect someone to take offense at your use of "blog" in otherwise polite and reserved conversation. "Well, I happen to think that's a load of BLOG!" (followed by gasps of utter surprise) Blog blog blog.

That is my blog theory. It belongs to me, Miss Anne Elk.

More later.

Bill
posted by Dr. Awkward at 11:19 AM